


Bad Moon Rising

by Lady of Spain (ladyofspain7)



Series: Halloween Treats [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen, Movie Reference, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofspain7/pseuds/Lady%20of%20Spain
Summary: What actually went on during the filming of Eclipse? Here are real events that happened on set, along with a fictionalized account. This story plot was the idea of the fabulously talented OTB; I just ran with it. FYI, this is not Edward, Bella, and Jacob. This is Tylor, Kristen, and Robert.





	1. The Gang's All Here

 

****

**Chapter 1: The Gang’s All Here**

What a great day! At least it was for Taylor. The new Director, David Slade, had them running and jumping and going through fight training to get them ready for the part. After all, this franchise had a lot of fans looking forward to it, and this third installment, Eclipse, would be the best yet.

 

Taylor laughed. He was running circles around his co-star, and poor Robert finally was bent over, winded.

 

“You know those cigarettes will kill ya,” he yelled at the stricken actor.

 

“I can’t bloody die; I’m a vampire, remember?” Robert fired back.

 

“Anything you say … _Edward_!” It came out as a cackle.

 

The young athlete forged ahead, catching up with Kellan and Alex, the only other two of the bunch who were enjoying this. He grinned as he ran beside them. “C’mon, grandpas, pick up the pace here.”

 

He sped up, passing them, and Alex shouted, “Show off!”

 

Kristen was slowing down, holding onto her side. Taylor matched her speed, and despite her shrieks, jokingly lifted her in his arms, and trotted with her over to the sidelines where some chairs were set up for the walking wounded.

David stood alongside one of the stunt coordinators and blew a whistle. “Okay, ladies and gents—everyone, take ten.”

 

Robert approached the chair where Kristen was seated, still wheezing heavily. “Thank god that’s over. Time for a ciggie. Care to join me, for some smoke inhalation?”

 

Looking up at him, she replied, “Actually, I’m trying to quit. I have a hypnotherapist coming here in a few hours to do a session with me.”

 

Squatting next to her seat, Taylor taunted, “Ah, that’s just a lot of hocus-pocus. You just need a little self-discipline.”

 

“Easy for you to say; you’ve never smoked in your life. You don’t drink, you don’t do drugs. You’re such a goody two shoes.”

 

He shrugged, “Hey, nothing succeeds like success. Clean living is what got me here in the first place.”

 

“Well, I’ve got to have a f—.”

 

Kristen sprang out of her seat and clapped her hands on either side of Taylor’s head. “These virgin ears are not used to profanity. He’s a sweet little Catholic boy.”

 

Robert rolled his eyes. “Oh, bollox. I need a ciggie.” He stormed off to the exit.

 

Removing her hands from his ears, Taylor barked, “Gotta go. My beef patties are callin’ to me, and then more resistance bands and weight training. I have to keep my abs drool-worthy.” He threw his head back and roared at his own joke.

 

Kristen shook her head. “You’re such a dork.”

  **. . . . .**

TPOV:

Later on, while outside the portable building, Taylor and friends were tossing a football back and forth. This time they were a little more cautious than last Friday, because that day, Kiowa punted it and his shoe somehow flew off, hitting the windshield of a car. Kristen was in said car, and wasn’t going to let them live it down.

 

As they were busy with the airborne projectile, the ringer on Taylor’s cell went off. He reached in his pocket and pulled it out.  “Gotta get this, guys.”

 

“Let me guess,” Bronson snorted. “It’s Swifty, and she misses her cuddly bear.” He made kissing noises, which elicited laughter from the rest of the bunch.

 

“You’re just jealous. Anyway, bye. I gotta tend to my woman. She’s crazy about me.”

 

“Yeah, well you just wait. When she breaks up with you, you’ll be one of the tracks on her newest album.”

 

Alex shouted after him, “You better watch it, Taylor. If David catches you with that cell in your pocket, you’ll bring the Redcoat down on you!”

**. . . . .**

 

When break was over, they all filed into a well-lit room to go over the first scene of the script to be filmed. Everyone read their lines, except for Taylor; he already had his part down pat.  He liked to be off book. Kiowa Gordon leaned back in his seat and groaned out loud. “You always make us look bad. Can’t you for once come unprepared?”

 

“Don’t be slagging off on the poor sod,” Robert chided. “He doesn’t want to bodge his lines. He wants to keep his reputation sterling.”

 

Alex jumped in. “ _Slagging off, bodge_? Could ya say that in English please?”

 

Kristen let a smile slowly curl on her lips. “He’s a British person,” she remarked. “He doesn’t speak English.”

 

There were snickers erupting around the table.

 

Robert just rolled his eyes.

 

David motioned for the actors to get back on track. “Yes, well now that we’ve heard from the Yanks … Robert, could you please take it from; _If I asked you_ …”

 

Clearing his throat, Robert spoke his line. “If I asked you to stay in the car, would you?”

 

She replied, “I don’t answer you; yada-yada-yada … then I get out of the car, looking curiously, and spot Taylor, looking pissed.”

 

“But he doesn’t even drink!” Robert teased.

 

With a shake of the head, David commented, “They won’t understand, Robert.” Looking out around the table, he continued, “I’ll explain it all to you chaps later. Next line then.”

 

Robert nodded. “Of course, not.”

 

The fingers of Kristen’s hand traveled across the table toward her co-star. “We walk up to Taylor, and I greet him with, _Hey_.”

 

She extended her arm with a flat palm out. “And he says…”

 

Taylor looked straight at her. “Charlie said you left town.”

 

The wiseacres in the crowd whistled and applauded.

 

“Jeez-louise—I didn’t finish yet, guys, so hold your applause ’til the end, huh …”

 

She completed her part. “Yeah, to visit my mom, why?”

 

Robert filled in, “He’s checking to see if you’re still human.”

 

Taylor clenched his teeth, and spit out, “I’m here to warn you. If your kind come on our land again …”

 

“Whoa,” Bronson remarked. “Did you see that intensity, gang? He better start writing up his acceptance speech.”

 

David’s arms were flailing about. “Exactly when did I lose control of this reading?” He turned to Chaske. “Do you think you could exercise your Alpha authority and order these lads to stop faffing off, and act professionally?”

 

Chaske laughed. “I can try ...” He put on a menacing scowl, and barked, “Put a sock in it, guys.”

 

Bronson attempted to keep a straight face but failed miserably. He elbowed Alex, and they both guffawed loudly.

 

“Okay, okay, we’re sorry,” Alex sheepishly remarked. “Go on, Kristen _. If your kind_ _come on our land again_ …” He curled his fingers, beckoning her to respond.

 

“Wait … what?”

 

Leaning in, and narrowing his eyes at Robert, Taylor delivered, “You didn’t tell her?”

 

They went on and covered the scene a couple more times, and the _Wolves,_ thankfully, behaved themselves for the rest of the session.

 

**. . . . .**

While the crew set up the lighting and cameras and finished the blocking, Kristen was busy lobbing red seedless grapes into the air. Taylor was weaving and bobbing with his mouth wide open, catching them one by one. In a playful mood, he executed a perfect backflip, and still managed to catch the last succulent missile, which he chewed and swallowed, ending the exhibition with a self-satisfied grin.

 

Running up to the acrobatic fool, Kellan yelled, “Hey, Lautner, catch this, bro!”

 

For the next half hour, a football flew back and forth between the actors, then Taylor called it quits, joining Kristen and Robert in the makeup chairs.

 

Robert was complaining about wearing the contact lenses—again. He blinked at his reflection in the mirror. “Oh blast! These grotty contacts … they scratch like sandpaper. You wolf blokes have it easy.”

 

Taylor let out a huff. “Oh yeah, I feel sooo lucky to walk around half naked in thirty-eight degree weather. Real easy; piece of cake.”

 

Kristen’s chair swiveled in their direction. “Will you two stop whining? You sound like little girls. You signed up for this, so _shut_ up.” She rose from the chair, thanked her makeup lady, and said to Robert, “After we finish this scene, my therapist is coming. “Can you stay with me while he puts me under? I’d feel more comfortable if I’m not in the room alone with him.”

 

Crossing one leg over the other, Taylor quipped, “Yeah, I’m sure those creepy looking eyes will scare the crap outta that guy. He’ll stick to the script for sure.”

 

**. . . . .**

There was a prop man on set named Tom Foote, who was always playing practical jokes on everyone. The last time, he added a tablespoon of salt to Taylor’s water bottle. One swig, and Taylor was sputtering and spitting his water onto the ground. The cast all had a good laugh at that, and the victim, forever after, hid his ever-present spring water where Tom couldn’t find it.

 

Not to be outdone, Taylor waited till the time was right. When Tom took off his new cross-trainers and put on the protective plastic overshoes to help the artificial snow handlers set up for the mountain scene, the wily actor poured sugar he glommed from the commissary into both shoes. From then on, Tom was nicknamed _Sugarfoot_.

 

 

Taylor had to be on the lookout for any unforeseen chances that Tom would get even. Since the sugar incident, he’d been lucky, but he still glanced over his shoulder every now and then to be on the safe side.

**. . . . .**

One day at the end of the second week of shooting, Robert was practicing fight moves with Eusebio, the martial arts trainer. David was adamant that he not leave the area. He let everyone know he was on a _frightfully_ tight schedule and expected compliance. So since Robert couldn’t accompany Kristen to her therapy session, she waylaid Taylor and asked him to go with her.

 

“C’mon, Taylor, please. You waste your time throwing a football around, so what’s the difference? It’s just a measly half hour.”

“Okay, but just for you, Kris. Anyway, I was only giving you a hard time to see you get all ruffled. Jeez-louise, I’m such a sucker for you.”

 

Kristen lightly slapped him on the shoulder. “Cut the crap, Lautner. I’m not Bella.”

 

His hand immediately rubbed at the spot. “Ow,ow,ow, I’m mortally wounded,” he yelled.

 

Rolling her eyes, she complained, “Why do I put up with you? I repeat—you’re such a dork.”

 

With a shrug, Taylor answered, “Yeah, I know. So, I’m a dork …”

 

**. . . . .**

 

He joked as he went through the entrance to the trailer. Throwing his arm in front of his nose, he said, “Look into my eyes,” in his best imitation of Bela Lugosi.

 

She immediately bumped his shoulder. “Shh! He’ll hear you.”

 

The therapist, Drake, was standing there watching them, obviously aware of what Taylor said. “It’s okay, Kris. A lot of people don’t believe in the benefit of hypnotherapy.”

 

Taylor instantly lost his jocular attitude. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

 

“No offense taken,” the insultee responded. “You can take a seat on one of those chairs by the wall. Kris, you know the drill.”

 

As he sat there, he made an effort to hide his cynicism.

 

The therapist turned to him. “How’d you like me to hypnotize you? No charge.”

 

“Nah, I’ll pass.” _Like to see you try though. That’ll be the day!_

 

Jeez-louise it was boring sitting there, hearing him drone on and on.

 

Crap, he must’ve fallen asleep, because he startled and looking around, Kristen was gone; already back on the set.

 

Drake winked at him. “Boring you?”

 

“No … I’m just—never mind.” He got up from the chair and skedaddled off.

 

**. . . . .**

It was hard getting out of bed the following day. He was feeling really weird. Crap—he knew it—his family had visited the set last week, and several days later his mom called to say that Makena was sick with the flu. Just what he needed! David would be irritated. He couldn’t lie in bed; it would bog down the whole shooting schedule.

 

Ugh! His head began to throb, and his joints ached. They felt like they were being pulled, and stretched out of shape. Being a professional, he soldiered on. He couldn’t let the cast down, the filming would crawl along at a snail’s pace without him, and he knew David was planning on wrapping it up in the next couple of weeks. He took two Tylenol and got dressed.

 

That morning, they started to film the scene in which Jacob explains imprinting to Bella. A man stepped in front of them with the clapboard, snapping it with a loud crack.

 

“It’s like the gravity …” He paused, looking down at the ground. “Sorry, let me do that over.”

 

He put on his mask of concentration, then glanced at the prompter. “It’s like the earth … What was that line again?”

 

Kristen was shocked. This was so unlike him. He never missed a mark, hardly ever flubbed a line. He was always prepared— _One Take Taylor,_ they called him.

 

“Are you all right?” she asked, clearly concerned. This was the second time today that he messed up. “You look like you’re spacing out.”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine; a little tired is all.”

 

He was always so honest, but he lied just now. Tired? He was never tired. Why, Taylor was a human energizer bunny, quick to spring into action. Not today; he wasn’t fine—in fact, he wanted to take some more Tylenol, lay his head down, and go to sleep.

 

David waved his hands around. “Let’s have another go, shall we.” He stepped back and gestured to the young actor.

 

Taking that cue, Taylor continued, “Imprinting on someone is like… like when you see her, everything changes. All of a sudden it’s not gravity holding you to the planet, it’s her.

 

“Nothing else matters. You would do anything, be anything for her.”

 

Kristen replied, “Sounds like you know the feeling.

 

“Have you … imprinted on someone?”

 

When he gazed deep into her eyes, these tender emotions all at once flooded his heart. “You’d know if I had. I just have a direct line to Sam’s thoughts.”

What the hell just happened? Was he actually falling in love with Kristen?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. In the Twilight Zone

Chapter 2: In the Twilight Zone

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight            Banner by LOS/background by MiNn

 

**. . . . .**

 

Nah it couldn’t be. In love with Kristen? He was tired and sick, and feeling strange. It was a fluke. He was getting too deep into character, and his mind was playing tricks on him. Boy, this method acting was really something.

 

He slogged through the rest of the day in a veritable fog, skipped supper and went straight to bed. Unfortunately for him, it was more of the same the following day. That night they had to film the bonfire scene too.

 

Kiowa had snarked earlier about the bad omen in the sky. “I’m tellin’ ya guys. Just look up at that moon. That’s a bad moon on the rise if I ever saw one.”

 

Everyone looked up through the tree branches overhead, into the inky dome of night. The moon was huge, with a misty halo around it. Legend had it that a moon like that could cause madness, or at the very least, disastrous occurrences.

 

Bronson howled like a wolf, making light of Kiowa’s comment. The pack of wolf boys chimed in, then broke up laughing.

 

“Lock it down, people,” the assistant director yelled.  

 

True to his prediction, things went from bad to worse as shooting started. Clouds gathered and dropped their load right on the heads of the cast members, cameras, and crew. It rained—pouring rain, and it was windy and cold to boot.

**. . . . .**

 

DPOV:

 

David was extremely aggravated to be thwarted by the _bleeding_ weather. He just wanted to get this film in the can. He griped, “With all this pelting rain zinging off the sheeting, it sounds like sizzling sausages. I need the _hot_ _dogs_ in the film, but not sizzling sausages. Absolutely diabolic rubbish!”

 

He sighed as he glanced at Gil. “Can someone please get another brolly for Gil? His hair’s getting soppy wet.”

 

The crew set up more plastic barriers to divert the water, as one of them stood over Gil with the umbrella.

 

One of the cameramen asked, “You want us to shoot this, MOS?”

 

His hands gesturing wildly, David said, “Yes, that’ll have to do. Keep rolling. We’ll dub it later. We have _got_ to get this shoot done tonight.”

 

Suddenly, he pointed into the distance. “Bloody hell—stop! Stop! There’s a bear in the frame. Is there an animal wrangler on site? Tom, go see about that, would you? There’s a good chap.”

 

While Tom trudged off, the bear lumbered on its way, back to … wherever.

 

The filming finally stopped at 2:15 A.M., as the rain continued on. The _La Push_ gang was all exhausted, along with David, so they all slept in.

 

**. . . . .**

TPOV:

Ordinarily, the subsequent scene was one that Taylor had looked forward to. It was one of his longer parts. There were no wolves, other humans or vampires in this, only he and Kristen.

 

He was to carry her through the forest, and he felt worse than ever. Having her heart next to his though was soothing for some reason. He could hear it beating in sync with his own. That was odd. Taylor leaned his ear against her head and inhaled her scent. Her usual fragrance of strawberries was missing. It was now more like coconut. She probably changed her shampoo, but whatever it was, it sure smelled good. That fragrance was intoxicating.

 

The young man thought he would be carrying her 110-pound frame for maybe fifteen minutes or so. He could do it easily. However, that fifteen minutes stretched into an all-day affair. The cameramen wanted every angle available, and poor Taylor was plodding along with Kristen weighing him down, take after take. Ultimately, the muscles in his arms were quivering in protest. He couldn’t even sign any autographs legibly that afternoon.

 

On the last lap, when he lowered the actress to the earthen floor, he unexpectedly swayed, and finally collapsed onto the leaf-strewn ground.

 

His breathing was labored as he peered up, blinking at the sky. Kristen was at his side immediately. She noted the flush in his cheeks and placed her palm on his forehead. “Oh my god, Taylor—you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell someone you were sick? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

 

Cast and crew were gathered around the poor boy, and he was carried to his trailer where he was administered to by the doctor hired by the film corporation.

 

“You’ve got a lot of bottle,” Robert told him. “But look … now you’re all knackered, just because you don’t want people to call a fit bloke like you, a pansy boy.”

 

With his voice just above a whisper, Taylor answered, “Whatever … I’m too _knackered_ to argue the point.”

 

 He could barely lift his arms; they were aching, and heavy as lead. And turning on his side—forget it. David had the nurse stay with him. The doc set up an IV drip, and the nurse pestered him every hour to eat and drink something. He was embarrassed to be waited on like a baby, but he felt as weak as one—he just couldn’t move.

 

**. . . . .**

KPOV:

 

By the next afternoon, he was feeling so much stronger. Kristen came by to see how he was. He heard the door to his trailer slam shut behind her. The stupid fixture at the corner had broken loose, and it would slam every time it was open and closed, causing his poor head to pound. You’d think someone would fix the darn thing.

 

“Hey, Taylor. You’re looking a lot better. You scared the crap out of me yesterday. Is there anything you need?”

 

An eyebrow quirked. “Yeah, I could use a bed bath. Why? Are you offering?”

 

“In your dreams, mister.”

 

“Worth a try …”

 

Kristen took a step backward. “Well I better go; Rob and I have to do that scene in the meadow.”

 

He gazed at her tenderly. “C’mere, girl.”

 

She laughed, “What?”

 

“You can’t leave without a hug.”

 

Getting beside the bed, she leaned over as he pulled her to his chest so tightly she could barely breathe. She struggled to get free. What on earth …? He was still hotter than a dragon’s tonsil too.

 

“You are so hot!”

 

A squiggle crossed his brow. “I _know_.”

 

Just then, the nurse opened the door. When she saw them together, she stood there long enough to hear the following exchange, then excused herself and shut it promptly.

 

“Okay, I’m going to chalk this up to delirium. Your brains have been cooked by your high temperature.

 

“I better go … the meadow.”

 

“Yeah, the meadow,” he retorted despondently.

 

**. . . . .**

What was _with_ him? Kristen had never seen him so … _clingy_? He looked like he was going to break out in tears when she mentioned the meadow. She’d known him for nearly four years. Taylor had been her friend in all that time, and like another little brother. She sometimes even called him, Taylor 2. This was going to be a problem—a _big_ problem, if he acted like that in front of Robert. She and Pattinson weren’t officially a couple yet, but things were heating up between them. She hoped that when her _wolf boy_ returned to work, his delusionary state or whatever it was would be gone. In the meantime, should she humor him?

 

**. . . . .**

  

Taylor was feeling great after three more days of rest and was raring to go. David was relieved, but Kristen was getting increasingly worried. During one scene, Robert was kissing her while on the treaty line. He whispered in her ear, “Did he just growl at me?”

 

Her eyes grew big. “I heard it too.”

 

Then, as she walked over to Taylor, he wrapped her in his brawny arms in a bear hug. He was latched onto her like a barnacle. After a few seconds of near suffocation, she faced away from the camera and quietly muttered, “You can let go of me now, Taylor. We’re supposed to get in the Rabbit.”

 

The bear hug lingered. Finally one of the crew hissed, “Taylor … Taylor … let go of her.”

 

The actor looked up at the man, steering Kristen to the car, and David yelled, “Cut!”

 

**. . . . .**

 

They were in the cafeteria, standing in line for lunch. “Did you see that?” she said to Robert afterward. “I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s like a different person.”

 

Robert gave a half smile. “What are you waffling on about? You think he’s off his trolly? That’s rubbish. I’ve seen this happen before. From the bits and bobs I’ve gathered, some actors get so deep into the character that they can’t step out of it.”

 

She picked up a tray. “Well, I don’t like it. I’m going to talk to David about it. There’s something going on, something almost supernatural. It’s like being in the Twilight Zone.”

 

**. . . . .**

Taylor seemed like a new man. The makeup girl was flipping grapes like fish to a seal, and Taylor kept moving out several feet back at a time, and he never once missed catching them.

 

He was always active, but now, he was absolutely hyper. And when he tossed the ol’ football around, it flew faster and further than ever before. That afternoon, he threw a forward pass which sailed over the main portable building, and two honey wagons, landing in Kellan’s waiting hands on the other side. It was an astounding feat—for a human.

 

When Kristen confided in David, she was surprised by his nonchalant response. He actually pooh-poohed her concern. He got up from the chair in his trailer. “If he has a problem, I’m not about to solve it and ruin a good thing. Haven’t you noticed? The dailies don’t lie. His acting has improved to such a degree that I would swear he’s _become_ Jacob Black. I’d be daft to change that. More power to him.”

 

**. . . . .**

Everyone noticed the difference in Taylor, but not everything he did was agreeable. Sometimes it was as if he was half asleep, then in a blink of an eye, he’d become this other person, alert and fun-loving and full of energy. It was weird.

 

**. . . . .**

TPOV:

 

Despite feeling _fit as a fiddle_ , Taylor had to wonder why. Sure he watched what he ate, worked out, and avoided tobacco and alcohol, but his recent stamina and enhanced senses seemed bizarre, mystical even. He sought out Stephenie the next day.

 

He approached her as she sat on the sidelines in a lawn chair, looking through the script. “Hey, Stephenie, can I ask you something?”

 

She looked up when he got closer. “Sure, Taylor. You look a little shook. What is it that’s bothering you? I’ll help you if I can.”

 

“Jeez-louise, this is really gonna sound stupid, but have you done any research on shapeshifters? I mean … do you think it’s possible?”

 

Stephenie closed the cover to the script, giving him her full attention. “From what I’ve gathered, there are all these legends concerning it, but no real concrete evidence that it could happen. People have reported out of body experiences; that much is true, but how does anyone prove that? I guess you can say that a person could hallucinate and actually believe that he’d shifted into some sort of animal. What I wrote in Twilight is pure fiction though. I latched onto a legend and went with it. Does that help?”

 

He gave her a quick salute. “Not hardly. Well, thanks anyway.”

 

“Taylor … are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, fine. See ya later, Stephenie.”

 

He noticed her brows knit together in concern. She realized something was eating at him, that much was certain.  

 

**. . . . .**

He and Kristen got in position. He took Kristen’s hand, and placing it flush against his chest, covered it with his own. The script manager cued, “In one, two, three …”

 

She tried unsuccessfully to pull away. Was his heat too much for her even through his shirt?

 

“Feel that,” he said. “Flesh and blood and warmth. I can give you more than him. I mean, he probably can’t even kiss you without hurting you.”

 

Her eyes met his, and jeez … his heart did a backflip. This was it, what he’d longed for. He was already in love with her … but this feeling was more intense, utterly indescribable. The bond was so strong. Did she feel it too?

 

This was good—but also bad, in a way. He wanted her to choose him freely. Not because of some freaky wolf thing. She knew he loved her; but she loved him too, she just wouldn’t admit it.

 

He churned it over in his mind. Wolf thing? Is that what was happening to him? The speed, the agility, the strength, the enhanced hearing and sight.

 

Taylor was glad that the next bit was the kiss, because truthfully, he couldn’t control himself. When his lips captured hers, he felt the jolt sending tingles down his spine, and even though the script called for a shortened buzz, he wasn’t having it. Kristen was the one to pull away first, and according to the scene, hauled off and belted him.

 

Kristen ran in circles, holding her hand in feigned agony, and Taylor was beside himself wanting to see the damage and help her if he could.

 

“And cut,” David directed.

 

**. . . . .**

 

Kristen reached out her fingers, touching his cheek with the flat of her palm; her hand now seemingly pain-free. How was that possible?

 

The camera crew had just sauntered off to take some footage of the beach, so they were now alone. 

 

“I’m worried about you. You’re freaking me out, Taylor.”

 

He began walking toward the van that transported them there. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

 

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Calling you what?”

 

“Taylor … you keep calling me, Taylor. Is that some new nickname you came up with?”

 

She halted, mid-stride. Kristen’s eyes widened in shock, and her mouth gaped open.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that, Bells?”

 

In a soft, soothing tone, she replied, “I’m not, Bells, Taylor. I’m Kristen. I’m an actress, and you’re Taylor Lautner, an actor. We’re playing a part in a movie called, Eclipse.”

 

A carpenter nearby suddenly dropped a board. The loud thud startled them both. Taylor suddenly blinked, and looking at her, said, “I’m sorry, Kris, you were saying?”

 

Kristen led him by the hand, and they climbed into the vehicle together.

 

**. . . . .**

 

A/N: Kristen has two adopted younger brothers, one of whom is named Taylor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Animosity in Progress

 

Disclaimer: S. Meter owns Twilight                        Banner by LOS/background by MiNn

 

**. . . . .**

“I don’t know, Kris. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Pieces of time are somehow lost. I’ll be doing something and all of a sudden, it’s an hour later, and I can’t account for it. It’s like I’m in a skip frame or something.”

 

Dropping his head into his hands, Taylor sighed.

 

As she rubbed his shoulders, she offered, “I told David what was going on, and he said you’d become the character you’re portraying. Maybe you should get some help.”

 

“Yeah, as soon as this filming is over, I’ll go to some retreat; somewhere quiet.”

 

Robert knocked loudly, and stuck his head in the door, “Kris—”

 

Taylor stood up, looking annoyed. “Whaddya want, you filthy bloodsucker?”

 

Scratching his tousled bronze hair, Robert announced, “David needs her at the tree line.”

 

“Get out!” Taylor shouted.

 

He backed up, still holding the door open. Kristen took Taylor’s face in her hands. “It’s okay, Jacob. Edward won’t hurt me. I’ll be back, I promise.”

 

She yelled to Robert. “Go get in the van; I’ll be right there.” 

 

The door slammed. Kristen walked away, after another strangulating hug, and quietly closed the door to the trailer.

 

**. . . . .**

KPOV:

With his arm around her, Robert said, “I believe you may be right. He _is_ a nutter.”

 

“Don’t call him that, Edward! Oh. My. Gosh. Did I just call you, Edward?”

 

“Yes. You. Did. Are you getting all manky as well? You do look a bit off color. I’m beginning to wonder how many of us will catch the same lurgi he had. I’m abso-bloody-lutely sure that I quite possibly will be the first. Oh god, I need a ciggie!” 

 

**. . . . .**

After lunch, the triad was at the _Swan_ location. Taylor slammed the door shut on the Rabbit, and Robert burst out of the Volvo, breathing down the young actor’s neck.

 

“If you EVER kiss her against her will again—”

 

Taylor spat back at him, “She’s not sure _what_ she wants!”

 

The two actors were pulling Kristen by the arms in both directions at once, when Taylor yelled, “Get your damned hands off her, leech,” and without warning he struck Robert with his fist, bloodying his nose. Then the two engaged in a war of tangled arms and elbows. Taylor was attempting to bite his costar’s throat when Billy Burke stepped in, yanking the young man off the totally shocked Pattinson.

 

One of the crew immediately handed Robert a towel to staunch the blood.

 

Robert wailed, “This is unbelievable, the effin’ yob hit me.” He looked around at David. “Did you see? He hit me. He threw a wobbly, and he hit me.”

 

Kristen dragged Taylor aside, out of earshot. “Please, Jake, can you control your temper … for me?”

 

“I’m sorry, Bells, but that freakin’ tick looked so smug. Every time I see you near him, I just go nuts. I wanna rip him to shreds.”

 

One hand curled around his neck, her fingers softly threading through the hair at its base. “Can’t you see that you’re hurting me when you act like this? Please … please, Jacob, promise me.”

 

“Will you let me kiss you if I promise?”

 

“Yes, Jacob you can kiss me.”

 

Taylor’s kiss was sweet and tender, and Kristen willingly went along with it. Good thing she had the acting chops to pull it off. The kiss ended, and the actress warned. “Now you promised; no more fighting. So behave yourself.”

 

“Sure, sure, I’ll try, but only for today.”

 

She held Taylor’s hand as they walked back to the front of the house. Everyone was back in position for the do-over. The actress nodded at David, and he gave her the thumbs up.

 

**. . . . .**

Kristen was waiting for Robert to say something. He kept flipping the channels on his _telly_ , focusing on the screen. The actor definitely wasn’t his gregarious self. The silence was making her very uneasy. She shifted her weight on the couch in his trailer.

 

Breaking the tension in the room, she asked, “Are you upset about something? I mean besides having a bruised ego.” She made the mistake of smiling at him when she said it.

 

He finally turned his attention to her, glaring in annoyance. With his index finger pointing at his face, he snapped, “You find this funny, do you?”

 

“Of course not.”  She stifled a giggle, but unfortunately, he noticed.

 

“In the books, it did say that the Cullens all had purplish bruise-like areas under their eyes.”

 

“Well, excuse me, but I didn’t plan on being so effing literal.’’

 

“I’m sorry, Rob, but you look so ridiculous.”

 

He threw down the remote control, even more irritated. “I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous … I’m standing there with a nearly broken nose, _bleeeeding_ … and you’re off snogging with the nutter.”

 

With a loud sigh, Kristen explained, “I thought it best to get him back under control. We need to get the film done. I had to humor him. God, you don’t have to act so jealous.”

 

“Believe me, I am _not_ acting. He fancies you, and I’m beginning to realize how that Edward, chap felt. He had good reason to be wary of the lad.”

 

Kristen leaned over to deliver a kiss. She barely touched him, when he groaned, “Don’t even try. My whole face feels like it’s been kicked by a mule. The bloody bloke knows how to throw a punch.”

 

Patting him on the shoulder, Kristen said, “Just be glad it was Jacob that hit you, and not his alter ego.”

**. . . . .**

Taylor ’s hotel room.

 

That night, as Taylor lay awake, he played with several ideas, but in actuality, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t lose this job, which was probably a moot point anyway, since the cast told him that his recent performances were _ace_ , as Robert would say. Too bad he had no memory of any of it. Was he really going crazy? Then again, Kristen had made a comment about his high temperature addling his brain. Maybe that was it … and maybe this was just a temporary state.

 

He got to thinking though, that he hadn’t seen _Sugarfoot_ around lately. That didn’t mean much; Tom might’ve been avoiding him on purpose. Did the notorious jokester find Taylor’s hiding spot for his water, and put something in it? And what about his beef patties? Could they be laced with some dangerous hallucinogenic drug? If they were, then this was not funny … not funny at all!

 

Taylor decided then and there to swear off his stash of beef for a few days, and only drink from unopened water bottles.

 

At any rate, the tent scene was on the horizon, and it was doubtless the most anticipated few minutes of the whole movie. He had to be on his game. He went over the script for the umpteenth time, memorizing every word.

 

**. . . . .**

Kristen’s trailer:

 

This whole state of affairs was getting serious. Would Taylor be able to restrain his animosity toward the actor he believed to be Edward? There were only two more scenes left with Robert and Taylor sharing a part, and one of them was the tent scene. She prayed that her young friend would show up for the occasion, and not the jealous wolf boy.

 

That horrible fight flashed across her mind as she gathered her coat and purse. Good lord, if Billy hadn’t intervened when he did, Taylor would have ripped a gaping hole in Robert’s jugular, and her co-star would’ve been in the ER getting stitches, and maybe even a pint of blood. How ironic.

 

She wondered if patronizing him these last few days was the right thing to do, but it seemed to be the only way to keep him out of trouble. What would Bella Swan do in this situation?

 

Then there was the problem in the opposite extreme. She had the power of wounding him emotionally. Oh god, what was going to happen when she told him she had chosen Edward? He would be crushed. Bella was constantly hurting Jacob, and now Kristen would be stepping into those shoes; only this time it would be … for real.

 

Kristen plopped down on the couch, waiting for Robert to pick her up; all the while, her brain spinning out an explanation for the recent events. If only there was some way to figure out what was causing his break with reality. It had something to do with this shoot—but what?

 

Taylor would be totally devastated if he’d known what he did to Robert. His martial arts training had a strict dogma of using it for self-defense only. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, but then neither would Jacob for that matter—a vampire, yes, a fly—no.

 

Her young friend was always so laid back and cheerful. Nothing ever appeared to upset him. Kristen had never even seen him lose his temper before today. So to see it displayed earlier that afternoon was downright scary.

 

She heard the car pull up to the trailer. Robert knocked on the door, and the two of them drove back to their hotel.

 

**. . . . .**

A lady was dabbing concealer over Robert’s bruised nose and the areas beneath his eyes as Taylor walked into the makeup room.

 

He stopped abruptly by his seat. “Whoa … jeez-louise, what happened to you?”

 

Clearly, Taylor didn’t remember what he’d done, and everyone on the lot was sworn to secrecy—David’s orders.

 

Robert was silent, so Kristen answered. “He ran into a doorknob.”

 

“More like a yob,” Robert muttered.

 

Taylor raised his eyebrows. “A yob?”

 

“Yes, you know—a nasty git with a strop on.”

 

Sliding onto his chair, Taylor asked, “How’s the other guy look?”

 

“Not a scratch on him.”

 

“Mind pointing him out to me, so I can avoid the jerk?”

 

Robert laughed, humorlessly. “Not bloody likely.”

 

**. . . . .**

The area was set up, and the actors took their places. Kristen was already shuddering in her bedroll, and it wasn’t all due to the feigned temperature either. Her nerves were shot; she was scared to death, not knowing when and if Taylor would snap. Above all others, this was the one scene where she could see that happening. She clenched her eyes tightly shut, and crossed her fingers.

 

With the crack of the clapboard, she heard the zipper as it ran along its track, opening the flap on the front of the tent. Taylor stuck his head in the opening, “I can’t sleep with all that teeth chattering going on.”

 

He walked bent over so his head wouldn’t hit the dome of the tent. Pattinson commented on Taylor’s unspoken words. “Forget it”

 

Robert shot his hand out, gripping Taylor by the shoulder.

“Get. Your. Hand. Off. Me,” Taylor hissed through clenched teeth.

 

The next line, “Keep your hands off her,” added to the already tense moment—that, and   Robert apparently held on a couple of seconds too long for the younger actor’s taste. Taylor slapped the other man’s grasp away from his bare shoulder. Uh-oh, that was not in the script.

 

That tore it. Taylor turned into a raging maniac. The two of them tumbled on the floor of the tent nearly flattening the entire thing. Kristen wiggled out of the way in her sleeping bag to evade the battling idiots, and the cameraman backed up just in time to avoid Taylor’s foot from breaking the lens.

 

As the cameraman looked on, he shouted to Robert, “Watch out for his teeth.” 

 

The crew was on them before too much damage was done, but Taylor was a handful, snarling and spitting out expletives. It took three men to pull him off Robert.  The actress had to scurry out of the sleeping bag quickly to unruffle his feathers.

 

“Jacob, stop!” she commanded. “Please stop.”

 

He looked at her for a moment and straightened up. Then, rolling his shoulders back sharply, shook off the hands that held him. “He’s okay, let him go,” she said quietly.

 

Reaching out to him, Kristen said, “C’mon, Jacob, let’s talk for a minute.”

 

They walked off the stage, with their arms around each other, and Kristen halted, turning to him. “I’m not going to mince words, Jake. I’m really upset. You promised not to fight anymore.”

 

“I said I would _try_. But, jeez, that filthy tick is my natural enemy. I can’t help it. He rubs me the wrong freakin’ way.”

 

“You know I love you, but you’re making this so difficult for me. I barely escaped from the tent. Do you want to see me get injured?”

 

“Absolutely not—you know I don’t want that. I’d die before purposely hurting you, Bells. You know that, right?”

 

“Well, then, do you think we can go back inside now?”

 

He hung his head. “Sure, sure. I really am sorry.”

 

**. . . . .**

The collapsed tent was still being erected, and one of the seamstresses was sewing up a nylon panel that had torn, and broken loose from the ribs during the fight.

 

Kristen stood beside Taylor, while all this was going on. In the meantime, Robert gave them a disdainful look as the makeup lady was reapplying concealer to his nose and under each eye. Taylor smirked at the other actor.

 

She pulled her arm away from Taylor’s waist and elbowed him in the side. “That’s not very nice. You should go apologize to Edward.”

 

Taylor let a loud huff escape. “Not on your life. He asked for it—the big twinkie!”

 

Kristen swallowed a giggle at that crack. This was a new one for Jacob. She craned her neck to see what Robert was doing. He was pulling at his clothes, straightening out the wrinkles, obviously not amused.

 

**. . . . .**

 

When the main props were finally reconstructed, the second take went off without a hitch. Would the next sequence bring more disaster though?

 

 

 

 


	4. Tom-Foolery

Banner by LOS

 

 

Still on the mountain stage area, Taylor was sauntering up to the faux summit.

 

Robert was beginning his line, “Number one is when you said—”

 

Kristen placed her fingers over Robert’s lips, interrupting him, and put her other hand in front of her, palm facing out. Robert looked at her as if to say, _What now?_

David signaled to the cameraman to stop filming.

 

Peering at Taylor, she curled her finger inward and said, “C’mere, sweetheart. I need to tell you something.”

 

Taylor followed her like a puppy dog. Touching his cheek with her palm, Kristen gazed into his dark eyes, which right now were softened with tenderness. She began to explain, “Edward is going to say that I agreed to marry him. Please don’t—”

 

The young man stiffened, his face twisted in anger and frustration. “Whaaaat!” he exploded. “Bells—no, you can’t be serious. You’re gonna marry that walking corpse? I’ll kill him. So help me … I swear, I’ll kill him.”

 

The distraught boy, lunged forward to get at Robert, but Kristen quickly had her hand pressed to his bare chest. “Wait—Jacob; hear me out. It’s not true. I mean … I _did_ tell him that, but only because I didn’t want him to fight with you anymore. I’m not really going to marry him. So, when you hear him say those words, pretend that we never had this conversation, or he’ll get suspicious. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

 

He looked down at his feet. “Yeah, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”

 

**. . . . .**

RPOV:

After that preliminary talk, the atmosphere was less strained, and the shoot went smoothly, although Robert got a little miffed when Taylor held _his_ Kristen in those muscular arms of his and nearly sucked her face off. What was really aggravating was the fact that the actress seemed quite eager to go along with all those lingering, sensual kisses. She was enjoying it. Take after take went on as he observed every little detail. Oh, bollox—was the lad a better kisser than Robert was?

 

Jealousy reared its ugly head. He was doing a slow burn as he watched her fingers ruffling through Taylor’s hair … and could they possibly get any closer to each other? She looked like she was ready to cop off with him. Bloody hell; was Kristen off her trolley too? God’s teeth, it was contagious.

 

One more week of this torture. The nutter had humiliated him in front of everyone, ruined several shots, nearly rearranged Robert’s face, and now was practically running off with his girl. This was total pants. Something had to be done.

 

**. . . . .**

KPOV:

 

When the director finally yelled _cut_ , the actors vacated the set. As Kristen walked away from Taylor—now in his right mind— _Sugarfoot_ approached her.

 

“Hi, Tom. Haven’t seen you in awhile.”

 

They walked together toward the commissary. “Yeah, legal problems with my divorce proceedings. Had to get back with my lawyer. And then, I came down with the flu.

 

“Oh, by the way, I saw you stop in the middle of the scene. What was that all about?”

 

“I guess you missed all the drama. It’s the weirdest thing. Taylor’s been behaving like he’s Jacob Back. Yesterday, he carried me up this steep mountain slope all covered in big boulders, and he didn’t gripe or complain of being tired even once. And whenever I get too close to Rob, Taylor freaks out and growls at us. He’s a ticking bomb; we never know when he’s going to go off. He almost bit Robert’s throat during one scene.”

 

Tom stopped in his tracks; his cheeks flushed. “Uh-oh. I never dreamed it would go this far.”

 

Kristen gave him a funny look. “What do you mean?”

 

“I told Drake to undo it after a day or two … you know … it was just for a joke.”

 

“Undo what?”

 

“Um, I sort of asked Drake to give Taylor one of those … what do they call it? A post-hypnotic suggestion?”

 

“Oh god, you didn’t.”

 

He shrugged, sheepishly. “Yeah … stupid, huh? Well, why didn’t Drake snap him out of it though?”

 

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she blurted, “I don’t believe this. Drake hasn’t been here for the last two weeks. I have a _new_ hypnotherapist. What did he do, forget about the poor boy?”

 

“But he assured me he would take care of it.”

 

“Obviously, he _didn’t_.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

“Thanks for the info. I’ve got his number; I’ll call him when I get to my trailer.” Kristen shook her finger at him. “Let this be a lesson to you. Hypnotism isn’t something to be fooled with. Poor Taylor.”

 

“Do you think David will fire me over this?”

 

“I don’t think so. Taylor’s been giving the performance of a lifetime.”

 

Tom’s face blanched. “Huh …”

 

**. . . . .**

Kristen ran to her trailer, and rummaging around in her purse, removed her cell, and Drake’s card.

 

“Drake? Hi, it’s me, Kristen.

 

“I’ll say there’s trouble. Tom told me what you two did to Taylor.

 

“No—that’s just it. He still thinks he’s Jacob Black, and Tom thought you’d already taken care of it.

 

“He was? Well, he didn’t.

 

“Can you get here tonight? Good, meet us at the hotel, room 312. Yeah, that’s great. You can explain it all then. Thanks, I was so worried about him.”

 

**. . . . .**

Robert stood as Kristen seated herself.

 

“Ah, there you are. Where’ve you been?”

 

“It’s a long story. Be patient, I’ll tell you in a few minutes.”

As she sat at the table, her head was up, down, and all around, looking for Taylor. “Who are you looking for, Kris?” Robert asked.

 

“Who else would I be looking for ... Taylor, of course.”

 

“Of course.” Robert put his fork down. “That bloody git has charmed you. All right, if you’re besotted with the _infant_ , I’ll step aside, although I find it inconceivable, you’d throw me over for an adolescent roughneck. May I also remind you that he’s been the instigator of every row that’s occurred on this shoot?”

 

“I am not besotted with him. He’s like a little brother to me. I happen to have some important information for the both of you, and I didn’t want to waste time telling it twice.”

 

She spotted the young actor seated next to Alex and Kiowa. Kristen put two fingers between her lips and blew as hard as she could. All heads turned to the source of the whistle, including Taylor. Standing up, she waved at him and yelled, “Taylor, over here!” 

**. . . . .**

Taylor blinked, then shook his head, and trotted over to where Kristen and Robert were sitting.

 

“What’s up, Kris?”

 

She pulled out an adjoining chair, and said,” You better sit down, kid. I’ve got a news flash for you. I found out why you’ve been losing blocks of time.”

 

Taylor repositioned the chair, facing it backward, and threw one leg over the seat, perching his elbows on the backrest. “Don’t stop there,” he coaxed. ”I’m all ears.”

 

“It seems our resident practical joker, Sugarfoot, paid Drake to plant a post-hypnotic suggestion in your brain.”

 

“What? I’d like to know how. He never had the chance to hypnotize me.”

 

“You can deny it all you want; Drake says he did. He’s coming over to the hotel tonight to undo the spell, and rid you of your _dual_ personalities.”

 

“Kind of hard to swallow, don’t you think? C’mon, Kris, are you absolutely sure about this?”

 

“Positive. Think about it … it makes perfect sense.”

 

“But …”

 

“Just be there at seven o’clock—my hotel room.”

 

“This is nuts!”

 

“I heartily agree,” Robert commented dryly.

 

Taylor’s head jerked up as a thought flashed across his mind. “Wait a minute … Does this mean I’m the yob that punched you in the nose the other day?”

 

Robert slumped against the wooden chair back, sighing. “Yes.”

 

“Jeez-louise, I’m really sorry, Rob. You know I’d never do anything like that if I was in my right mind.

 

“How can I make it up to you?”

 

Pointing a finger at Taylor, Robert said, “By being there at seven. I have no desire to get into another bloody row with Jacob Black. My face still stings from the last time we met.”

 

**. . . . .**

At seven P.M. in the Queen Victoria Hotel, at Vancouver, the triad sat in Kristen’s room waiting for the hypnotherapist to arrive. Taylor’s knee was bouncing up and down, annoying his friends.

 

Kristen clamped her hand over his knee to prevent it from jerking up and down. “Stop that! What are you so nervous about?” she asked.

 

“I don’t know. It’s just kind of creepy to have someone messin’ with your mind.”

 

Kristen laughed, lifting one of his hands. “Here’s an idea—while he’s messin’ with your mind, creepy or not, maybe he could cure you of biting your nails.”

 

“Like _that’s_ going to help …”

 

“Hey, don’t knock it, Mr. Skeptical. I haven’t had a cigarette in ages. It does the job, I’m telling you, Taylor. It definitely worked on you; Rob’s face is proof of that.”

 

**. . . . .**

Taylor’s knee continued to imitate a piston pump until the knock came at the door. Kristen hopped up off the couch to let Drake into the room.

 

He nodded at Taylor. “So, I guess I wasn’t boring you after all, huh?”

 

“What?”

 

“That day when you accompanied Kristen to her session, you fell asleep, and when you woke up, I asked if I was boring you.”

 

Kristen gestured toward an upholstered chair nearby. “Why don’t you have a seat; we all want to hear what happened that day.”

 

Drake sat down, but apologized first. “I’m truly sorry about all this, Taylor. The hypnosis was only supposed to last a day or two, but I got pulled away by some big politician and had to leave another therapist in my place. I told him he needed to remove the suggestion, and Tom was supposed to remind him. I guess Tom left for an emergency, and John forgot to do it. I feel bad about that, I should have been more diligent, and checked on it. I’m glad that Kristen here figured it out before the filming ended, or things would’ve really gotten out of hand.”

 

Taylor’s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward. “You’re saying that I didn’t fall asleep on my own … that I was actually hypnotized?”

 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

 

“I don’t understand, though. I didn’t seem to become Jacob for a while. Why is that? Shouldn’t I have immediately … well, morphed into the character?”

 

“Ordinarily, yes, but you were so resistant that it took longer to hypnotize you. I talked to David and he said you’d gotten sick, so I’m assuming that all your mental barriers came down during your weakened state and that’s when Jacob took over.

 

“I have to admit, you were a tough nut to crack. You sat in that chair looking up at the ceiling, bouncing in your seat, clicking your tongue, and rolling your eyes. You wanted to be any place else but there. That much was obvious.”

 

“I still don’t get it. When I woke up, Kris was gone already. Why didn’t I snap out of it at the same time as she did?”

 

“I’ll answer all your questions, but let’s go back to the beginning …”

 

**. . . . .**

Flashback to Kristen’s therapy session

 

Drake’s POV:

 

The therapist’s voice was quiet, soothing. “I want you to imagine that you’re alone, lying on the beach. You’re in the shade; there’s a balmy breeze wisping over you. There’s no one around to bother you, and the only noise is the rustle of the nearby trees, and the waves as they lap at the shore. The pillow under your head is soft, and you feel completely relaxed, just letting sleep overtake you. It’s so easy to drift away, as every ounce of tension leaves your body. You’re ready to let go, and fall into a natural …    deep … sleep.

 

“Feel the muscles in your feet, as they begin to soften, then your legs, and now your thighs.”

 

The hypnotist continued the body scan until he had each individual focusing on the forehead area. Taylor by this time had finally succumbed, his eyes were closed and his head dropped upon his breast.

 

Drake got up and took Kristen by the hand, and lifting her from the recliner, walked her to another room. Taylor couldn’t hear what was spoken. Then the therapist returned, his attention directed at Taylor.

 

“Now, Taylor, you want to be a great actor, and I’m going to give you the tools to do just that. Is that alright with you?”

 

“Yeah,” he whispered.

 

“Okay, here’s what will happen …”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Waking Up Taylor

“Okay, here’s what will happen. Whenever you hear a sharp noise—a clapboard, a shout, any sudden loud sound, you will essentially _become …_ Jacob Black, and in that mind frame, you will literally be in love with, and imprint on Bella Swan. You will revert back only when another unexpected sound is heard.

 

“Do you understand?”

 

“Yeah, I understand …” Taylor mumbled, in a hazy voice.

 

“Remember this—while Jacob Black is in possession of your mind, you will have no recollection of what was said or done during that time. As you return to your own persona, you will be totally unaware of your alter ego.

 

“All right then, when I snap my fingers, you will wake up, thinking only that you’d fallen asleep, okay?”

 

Taylor nodded.

 

“On the count of 3-2-1 …” Drake snapped his fingers.

 

Taylor woke up, disoriented, scanned the room, and noticed that Kristen was gone.

 

The therapist gazed at Taylor, with an amused expression on his face. He winked, as he remarked, “Boring you?”

 

“No … I’m just—never mind.” He got up from the chair and rushed out the door.

 

**. . . . .**

 

JPOV:

 

He didn’t recollect dozing off, but the facts didn’t lie. Jeez-louise, he remembered thinking at the time—why didn’t this idiot wake him up sooner. He had then hoped the others weren’t waiting around for him. He hated people that showed up late on the set, slowing down the shooting process. He prided himself on being punctual.

 

Everyone was silent for a few seconds after Drake recounted his story. Kristen was the first to comment.

 

“Oh my gosh, every time, the clapboard clicked shut, Taylor didn’t have to _say_ his lines, they _were_ his lines. No wonder David didn’t want anyone to interfere. Jacob Black was there—on the set—in person.”

 

“Correct. Unfortunately, Jacob is the natural enemy of Edward, and that’s where things got a little dicey.”

 

He looked at Robert and winced. “I’m sorry your face had to pay the price, Rob.”

 

Leaning his cheek on a fist, Robert asked, “The main thing is, can you peel the two apart now?”

 

Drake stood up, rubbing his hands together. “That’s why I’m here.

 

“Taylor, I need you to lie on the bed. Kris and Rob, can you leave us alone for about ten minutes. I don’t want you accidentally getting hypnotized at the same time. I’ll open the door when I’m done.”

 

The couple exited the room, and Drake put the young actor under. Afterward, he stuck his head out the door and signaled to the two lovebirds out in the hall. “You can come on in now. Let’s see if it worked.”

 

Robert looked at Taylor who was sitting on the bed. “Are you Taylor right now?”

 

“Sure, sure,” he answered, smiling.

 

“Not funny,” Kristen groused.

 

Robert clapped his hands together sharply. “Jacob?”

 

“Nope, I’m happy to say he’s gone, forever, I hope. Hey, that rhymes.”

 

“Yay! You’re Taylor, and you’re still a dork!” Kristen ran up to him, rubbing her fingers on the top of his head, and toppled them both onto the mattress. She kissed his face over and over, as he pretended to protest.

 

“Down girl, down. If this gets out, Swifty will strangle me.”

 

“Let her be jealous, I don’t care.”

 

Robert hissed through his teeth at the couple, still wrestling on the bed.

 

Kristen pulled her head back. “Did I detect a vampire hiss?” she teased.

 

As he sat up, Taylor jokingly added, “Better a vampire hiss, than a vampire kiss.”

 

“Or a boo and a bleeding hiss from the audience,” Robert said. Then, extending his arms out wide, Robert said, “Can you come here a moment, Kris?”

 

Robert gathered her quickly to his chest and planted a good one on her. He broke the kiss and listened for a few seconds. “I didn’t hear a growl this time?” With eyebrows raised, he looked at Kristen. “Did you hear a growl?”

 

“I didn’t hear a growl.”

 

Taylor appeared to be stunned. “Jeez-louise, I actually growled at you?”

 

“Every bloody time I got near Kris. You were so brassed off; I was in fear for my life.”

 

**. . . . .**

On the following morning, as Robert walked toward the makeup trailer, Taylor, a few feet behind him, yelled, “What are you doin’ here, you filthy bloodsucker?”

 

Robert stiffened, and turning, took a few steps backward, about to run. Taylor laughed loudly, “Just kiddin’. Man, you should see the look on your face. It’s so chalky-white, you don’t even need any makeup today.”

 

The young actor flipped head over heels, and landing, said, “See? It’s me, Taylor, alias the dork.”

 

**. . . . .**

The rest of the shoot went on without incident, and Taylor put in a good performance despite the absence of his inner muse. The whole cast roared in celebration as David yelled, _It’s a wrap!_ after the final martini shot.

 

The next evening, there was the usual _wrap_ party. Robert came in wearing a Team Jacob T-shirt, and Taylor outfitted himself in a Team Edward shirt, except on the back it read Team Swifterland. Kristen’s top sported the words, spelled correctly,  Team Switzerland.

 

At the table spread in their honor, there was a glass filled with tomato juice for Robert, along with a Nicoderm patch, chocolate milk for Kristen, and a pop tart, and root beer for Taylor with a long toothpick speared through a grape sitting on the edge of the tumbler.

 

As they seated themselves, the ringtone on Taylor’s cell went off. It was the other Taylor, who he had invited to the party.

 

“I’m sorry, Taylor. I know I said I’d be there, but I got stuck at the recording studio and missed my flight. I feel awful. This means a lot to you, and I’ve just ruined your evening. Can you ever forgive me?”

 

“Hey, it’s okay. Yeah, I’m a little disappointed, but that’s life. It can’t be helped.”

 

“You’re so sweet. Well, I better let you go. You’re with all your friends. Bye, Taylor.”

 

“Bye, Swifty. Love you.”

 

He got cut off before she answered. Her phone battery probably died.

 

Kristen must’ve noticed that his face had fallen, because she said, “Taylor’s not coming, is she?”

 

He stared into space. “No, she got held up. No big deal.”

 

“You’re not fooling me, Lautner. It _is_ a big deal. But, look around you. We’ll see that you have a good time, even without that leggy blond.”

 

They all laughed as they ate, especially when David got up and told a few anecdotes. Then there were the passing out of certificates for the _best of, and most likely to._ Kristen won for best lip biting, Robert, for best use of incomprehensible words—and Taylor, for best imitation of a jealous werewolf.

 

Tom earned a certificate for most reformed practical joker, and Bronson was named as his predecessor’s replacement. Alex was voted most likely to join Taylor in backflips, and Kiowa, most likely to avoid them both. Kellan won the dubious distinction of most likely being cast as a Greek god in a sword and sandal film. Gil was chosen as best acting while _under the weather_. Julia was voted for sweetest portrayal of a sour grape. Billy Burke walked away with the prize for best mustache in a supporting role. The list of achievements went on and on—it was worse—and longer than the Academy Awards.

 

**. . . . .**

Some of the actors and crew had already headed for home, or onto their next film project. There were a few tears as the engineers set about striking the place that was home for the last eleven weeks. The remaining actors stayed to watch as, piece by piece, structures came down.

 

Taylor found Kristen outside the makeup room, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex.

 

He sidled up to the girl, bumping her shoulder. “What are you sniffling about, Kris. We still have two more movies to make. After that’s all in the can, then—I’ll probably join you.”

 

They walked together toward a lunch wagon, since the commissary was already dismantled. “So what have you got in the works before we start shooting again?” she asked, still blowing her nose.

 

“I’m supposed to do a film with John Singleton, called Abduction. I’m kind of nervous about it. You know, big budget and all—a lot depends on me. I’ll probably throw up the first day on the set.

 

“I wanted to ask you for some advice about it. I’ll be the lead actor, but jeez-louise, I’ll be up against veteran pros like Alfred Molina, Jason Isaacs, and Sigourney Weaver.”

 

“And you’re asking me? I’ve mostly done small indie films. This series is the first blockbuster I’ve ever been in.” She quirked an eyebrow, and added, “If you’re really that worried, I can always have Drake hypnotize you again.”

 

Taylor threw his hands up in front of himself. “Noooo thanks. One personality in my head is overwhelming enough. Anyway, we won’t start shooting until next year. I’m just gonna rest my abs, have a barbeque to use up my beef patties, and see Swifty as much as I can. By the way, you should come to one of her concerts; I’ll save you a seat.”

 

Kristen hugged him and said, “She better not break your heart, or I’ll have to cut all the strings off her guitars.”

 

**. . . . .**

November continued to fly by, with only one week left. Swifty’s birthday was looming front and center before him, and he was scratching his head. What could he possibly get her that she didn’t already own?

 

He got an idea, and decided to visit a small jewelry store in downtown Valencia. Even though the shop wasn’t a large franchise, it still had some beautiful items on display, and several ID bracelets sat in the case just waiting to be personalized.

 

The bell above the door jingled, heralding his entrance into the store. Taylor explained what he wanted to purchase, and after looking at half a dozen silver bands, he picked one out. Writing out what the engraving should read, he handed the written instructions to the person behind the counter.

 

The jeweler, a stuffy looking, little red-faced man, looked at him with a confused expression.

 

“TNT? You want TNT inscribed on the bracelet? Sir … are you certain of that?”

 

Taylor nodded. “Yep!

 

“It’s an inside joke. Her name’s Taylor; my name’s Taylor. Taylor N Taylor—TNT. We’re an explosive combination. He grinned like a fool at the man. And he was a fool … a lovesick fool. He knew Swifty would love it.

 

“Yes sir,” the man replied. “Anything else you would like on it?”

 

“How about a little heart on the side of the inscription. Oh, and can you write something on the other side too?”

 

“Yes, that can be arranged.”

 

“Okay, then add, _With_ _Love, Taylor_.”

 

“With love, Taylor … got it. Thank you, sir.”

 

**. . . . .**

A week went by, and he finally received a call from _Bijou and Baubles,_ saying the bracelet was ready for pick-up. He brought Makena with him to see what she thought of the birthday present.

 

On the way home, Makena held the bracelet in her hand, admiring it. “I’m pretty sure she’ll like it. And even if she didn’t, she would still like it, because it’s from my brother.”

 

She looked at Taylor and sighed. “Gee whiz, how am I ever going to find a guy like you, Taylor? Most of the boys I know are such jerks. I know I’m really picky, but no other boy can get out from under your shadow. Still … I’m glad you’re my big brother.”

 

“Hey, I love you too, Kena.”

 

She teased, “Does that mean you’re going to buy me a car next year for graduation?”

 

Taylor grinned, glancing at his little sister. “Just name the make and model.”

 

She burst into a high-pitched squeal. “For real?”

 

“I said I would.”

 

“You’re the best!” She continued to shriek and bounce in her seat.

 

**. . . . .**

When they arrived at home, Taylor tried to take the box away from Makena. She slapped at his hands.” I’ll wrap it for you.”

 

Frowning, Taylor groused, “I’m not an idiot; I can do it myself.”

 

With her arms akimbo, his sister retorted. “I’ve seen how you wrap presents. You better let me handle this if you don’t want your girl rolling on the floor laughing before she opens it.”

 

“That’s an exaggeration, sis.”

 

“Is it? What about the time you wrapped up that gift for Sarah?”

 

“That was five _years_ ago.”

 

“And she still laughs about it.”

 

“Okay, you win, but let me sign the card.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Banner by LOS**

* * *

Swifty was due to headline the Z100 Jingle Ball 2009 on December 12th, one day before her birthday. It was to be held at Madison Square Garden, in New York City. Taylor had the plane ticket bought, his suitcase packed, and the present wrapped. He only needed a dozen long-stemmed red roses. He would buy them on the way to the concert.

 

The young man wanted to be the first to say Happy Birthday to his sweetheart. She would be so surprised to see him there. He could hardly wait.

 

His flight was on schedule, and he arrived at the New York Hilton in plenty of time to dress in his best suit and buy Swifty her flowers in the gift shop. He smiled as he dreamed of how she would look when he stood before her. Her bright blue eyes would pop out of her head.

 

He took a taxi so he wouldn’t have to battle his way to find a parking spot. After paying the driver, he inhaled the crisp December air and peered up at the sky. The moon was huge that night, and the admonition of his friend, Kiowa, reverberated in his mind. _That’s a bad moon on the rise if I ever saw one._ He shook his head, and chuckling to himself, ambled to the rear of the building.

The security guards recognized him from his photo shoots with Taylor, and one of them escorted him inside where an usher found him a seat.

 

Swifty sang her heart out, adding a lot to the ménage of talent on the stage that night. John Mayer shared the spotlight with her at one point, and she performed a duet with him.

 

The show was great, but despite his eagerness to see her, Taylor waited on the sidelines until the crowds thinned out. Then he wended his way to her dressing room. Before he could knock on her door, it opened and John walked out, nodding to the new arrival as he walked down the corridor.

 

There she stood … still as a statue, a blond-headed Venus, with a look of surprise on her face. He expected that, but not the expression of impending doom that followed. Instead of rushing into his arms, she hesitated, and lowered her head, gazing at the floor. Did someone give her bad news? Was that it?

 

He surged forward, offering her the flowers and the little box containing her gift. She just seemed so lifeless. Maybe someone in her family died?

 

“Happy birthday, honey,” he murmured, sweetly.

 

She took the roses and laid them on her dressing table along with the present. “Oh, they’re beautiful, Taylor,” she muttered. “This is such a surprise. You came all this way just to see me on my birthday?”

 

“I had to be the first to wish you the best on your special day.”

 

Slumping onto a nearby chair, she looked away from him again, as he continued to stay standing on his feet, feeling awkward as hell.

 

“Well, aren’t you gonna open your present?”

 

Swifty leaned over and slowly grasped the box off the table. After fumbling with the pretty wrapping paper and ribbon, she lifted the lid. Seeing the bracelet, with the inscription staring her in the face, she burst into tears.

 

Taylor was immediately hunched down beside her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

 

She raised her tear-filled eyes at him. “I can’t accept this, Taylor.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I’m not worthy of it.”

 

“What are you talking about? Of course you are.”

 

Swifty licked her lips, and fidgeting with her hands in her lap, finally spoke. “I’m not like you, Taylor. You’re so sweet, so genuine, and it kills me to hurt you like this, but I owe you the truth. I … I … feel like I’m being smothered. We can’t go on like this anymore. I guess I should be flattered that you flew clear across the country to be here, but I’m … I’m not. I’m being selfish, I know.

 

“Then there’s the distance problem. You’re filming; I’m touring. I can’t have you following me to every concert. You’re too self-sacrificing. I never do that for you, and it makes me feel guilty. Then you take it graciously, and tell me that it’s okay because I’m so busy. But you’re busy too; making me feel even more guilty. So before it gets too complicated, I think it would be best to make a clean break. Maybe we could just remain friends.”

 

Holding out her hand with the box still in it, she said, “Here … please … take this back. I don’t deserve it.”

 

He tried to smile, but it died before it reached his lips. “No, you keep it. I had that made especially for you. It’s yours.”

 

Sighing, he stood, glancing at the roses lying on the table, dying there, just like his heart. “Well, I guess this is goodbye then, huh?”

 

A sniffle escaped her.

 

Taylor swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump lodged in his throat. “Before I go, can I have one last kiss?”

 

She offered him her hands and he pulled her up from the chair. She was in her stocking feet, and this time, they were both at eye level for once. As they kissed, he plunged his hands into her mass of golden tresses, drawing her head nearer. If this was the last time their lips would meet, he wanted to embed the memory of it deep within his brain. He held her tightly cinching her slim waistline, nearly bowing her against him. She whimpered softly as his mouth retreated after a long kiss goodbye. Looking deep into her blue eyes, he whispered, “It was my honor to love you, Taylor. And it was worth every minute we spent together. I’ll miss you ... I mean that sincerely”

 

When he stepped back ready to leave, she grabbed hold of his sleeve. “There’s someone out there for you, I know it in my heart—someone better than me, who can love you right—the way you should be loved. Goodbye, Taylor. You’re a beautiful boy, and I’ll never forget you for as long as I live. I’ll probably regret this night every time I see your face in the news, or whenever you slip silently into my dreams.”

 

He walked out the door, and she closed it quietly behind him. He paused there a few seconds and overheard her crying in the room.

 

**. . . . .**

 

Crushed, he was absolutely crushed. How could such a promising night turn into such a disaster? He caught a taxi back to his hotel, and rode all the way while licking his wounds. At least she was honest about it all. It wasn’t an easy thing for her to do either. Loving someone was never easy.

 

When the cabbie dropped him off at the lobby entrance, he looked up again at that big, bad jack-o’-lantern in the night sky. It was still hanging there, gloating, grinning, mocking him. He wondered if Kiowa wasn’t right when he made the prediction during that scene in the rain.

 

It was tough recovering from that breakup. Taylor had really loved her, but day by day the pain lessened, and he was able to move on. To show her there were no hard feelings, he even sent her a card, and some yellow roses on—yep, you guessed it—Valentine’s Day.

**. . . . .**

Taylor had just gotten home from filming Abduction in late September 2010. He’d have to start packing on the muscle again for that Jacob Black body. The shooting for the next part of the saga would begin soon.

 

In October, the 25th to be exact, he got an email from Alex. “Get a load of this, buddy. I told ya, there’d be a track on Swifty’s album about you. I read it’s called _Back to December_.

 

His was the first of many notices Taylor received about the song (it actually was a musical apology, not like her other musical rants). They even posted a photo of the album cover, and to his shock, there on her wrist was the ID bracelet he had given her.

**. . . . .**

As Taylor got ready to start filming Breaking Dawn in Vancouver, he and Robert checked out the phases of the moon for the next few days. Maybe they were being overly cautious, or superstitious, silly even, but either way, they were not about to chance another BAD MOON RISING!

 

The End

 

A/N: It may be just a coincidence, but Swifty started dating John Mayer that very December. Coincidence or not? I’ll bet she really regretted giving Taylor the bum’s rush after her breakup with John.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
